Chapter 451: The Game

“She knows her way around my kitchen,” Grayson said in a low, velvety voice that sounded like smooth steel grinding against stone. “Because she belongs with me.”

The stranger’s polite smile froze instantly. He looked at Grayson’s sharp, aristocratic face, his expensive dark coat, and the deadly, quiet intensity in his blue eyes. The man took an immediate step backward, clutching his plastic box of organic tomatoes like a shield.

“O-Oh!” the man stammered, his eyes darting between Grayson’s broad shoulders and Mailah’s amused face. “I… I was just asking about the tomatoes! Really! No offense intended, sir!”

“None taken,” Grayson replied coolly, though he did not step back an inch. “As long as you select your produce in another aisle.”

The man didn’t need to be told twice. He gave a quick, nervous nod, turned on his heel, and practically power-walked toward the bakery section, leaving his box of tomatoes behind on the shelf.

Mailah leaned her head against Grayson’s broad arm, her shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. “Grayson… he was just asking about pasta sauce.”

Grayson didn’t break his stare from the empty end of the aisle for two long seconds before looking down at Mailah. The icy glare vanished instantly, replaced by that gentle, protective warmth reserved entirely for her.

He leaned down, pressing a firm, warm kiss to the top of her head. “His tone was entirely too cheerful,” Grayson noted smoothly, his hand remaining firmly anchored to the small of her back. “And his tomato selection was flawed. He was clearly a fool.”

Chloe walked up behind them, holding two tubs of chocolate ice cream, and let out a loud, dramatic sigh. “Did you just use dark realm intimidation tactics on a guy buying vegetables?”

“I did not use tactics,” Grayson corrected coolly, pushing the shopping cart forward with one hand while keeping Mailah secured against his side with the other. “I merely corrected his direction.”

“You are helplessly jealous, cousin,” Chloe laughed, trailing behind them as they headed toward the registers. “It’s embarrassing! You’re thousands of years old!”

“I am attentive,” Grayson replied, refusing to look back. “There is a distinct difference.”

At the checkout counter, Grayson stood with rigid, regal posture while the teenager at the register scanned their items. When the total appeared on the screen, Grayson reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a crisp, perfect leather wallet. He handed over the exact amount in paper bills, inspecting the teenager’s handling of the cash with the quiet scrutiny of an ancient accountant checking tax tributes.

The young cashier looked thoroughly intimidated, scanning the bag of cheddar chips three times just to make sure he didn’t mess up.

“Thank you,” Mailah said kindly to the clerk, taking the heavy paper bags.

Before she could lift them, Grayson’s broad hand effortlessly gathered all three bags into one arm, leaving his other arm completely free to wrap around Mailah’s waist as they walked out into the cool afternoon air.

By six o’clock, a quiet autumn rain had started to fall over the estate grounds, tapping softly against the high glass windows of the grand kitchen.

The counters were covered with fresh produce, glass jars, and paper bags. Mailah stood near the sink, rinsing fresh basil leaves under cool running water, while Grayson stood right beside her, meticulously chopping garlic with a heavy steel chef’s knife.

He moved the blade with terrifying, perfectly rhythmic speed—tap-tap-tap-tap—reducing the garlic cloves to tiny, identical pieces within seconds.

“You really don’t have to cut them so small, Grayson,” Mailah said, leaning her shoulder against his arm to watch his long fingers work with practiced skill.

“If the garlic pieces are uneven, the oil will cook them at different rates,” Grayson explained with total seriousness, not slowing his hands down for a second. “One piece will burn while another remains raw. It ruins the harmony of the sauce.”

Chloe sat at the kitchen island, eating a bowl of green grapes, watching him with an amused smirk. “Look at him. The ancient terror of the dark realms, worrying about garlic harmony.”

Grayson set the knife down, wiped his hands on a clean white cloth, and turned his blue eyes toward his cousin. “I am not reduced to anything, Chloe. I am choosing to care for my home.”

“Your home, or Mailah?” Chloe teased, popping a grape into her mouth.

Grayson looked over at Mailah, his sharp face instantly softening. Mailah was reaching for a high cabinet to pull down a glass bottle of olive oil, her cardigan pulling up slightly at her waist.

Before she could stretch her arms fully, Grayson was already there behind her. His tall frame covered her completely, his chest resting warm against her back as he easily reached up with one long arm and took the glass bottle down for her.

He didn’t move away immediately. He held the bottle in one hand, while his other arm wrapped securely around her waist, pulling her back against his broad chest. He buried his face into the soft curve of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin mixed with lavender and rain.

“I have got it, my love,” Grayson murmured, his raspy voice sending a sweet wave of heat straight down her spine.

Mailah leaned back into his strong hold, her hands resting over his forearm. “Thank you, Grayson.”

“Gross! Get a room!” Chloe groaned from the island, covering her eyes with her hands. “I am trying to eat fruit here! Must you two embrace every time a glass bottle is moved?”

“Yes,” Grayson answered flatly, refusing to let go of Mailah for another three seconds before finally stepping back to pour the oil into the hot pan.

Dinner was a quiet, delightful affair. They ate fresh pasta at the small wooden table near the kitchen fireplace, the warm orange light casting cozy shadows across the stone room. Grayson spent half the meal making sure Mailah’s plate was constantly filled, cutting her bread into neat pieces, and refilling her glass with water before she even had to ask.

“So,” Chloe said, wiping her mouth with a napkin as she finished her plate. “Since the storm is getting worse outside, are we going to do something fun tonight? Or are you two just going to stare at each other until bedtime?”

Grayson set his fork down neatly. “I have paperwork to review in the study.”

“No, you don’t!” Chloe declared. “You finished all your estate documents yesterday! I checked your desk!”

Grayson gave his cousin a dry, warning glance. “You searched my private desk?”

“I was looking for a pen!” Chloe said quickly, holding her hands up. “The point is, we should play a game. A regular human board game.”

Mailah’s eyes lit up with sudden excitement. “Oh! We have Scrabble in the library!”

Grayson paused, looking at Mailah’s happy expression. His resistance collapsed instantly. “Scrabble,” he repeated carefully. “The game where wooden tiles are used to construct words?”

“Yes!” Mailah smiled warmly. “It’s simple and cozy. We can play by the fire.”

Grayson nodded slowly. “If it pleases you, we will play.”

An hour later, the three of them were sitting around the low wooden coffee table in the grand living room. The large stone fireplace was roaring, filling the room with the crackling sound of burning oak logs and a deep, comforting heat.

The green Scrabble board was set up between them, covered in neat rows of small wooden letter tiles.

Mailah sat cross-legged on a plush velvet cushion, wearing a loose sweater and warm socks. Grayson sat right beside her on the floor, his long legs stretched out, his broad shoulder resting solid and warm against hers.

Chloe sat on the opposite side of the table, staring at her rack of wooden letters with a concentrated frown.

“Okay,” Chloe announced, placing five letters onto the board. “I am playing BAKE on the double-word score. That gives me… twelve points.”

Grayson looked down at the board, his blue eyes cold and analytical. “A weak word,” he noted smoothly. “Lacking ambition.”

“Oh, really?” Chloe crossed her arms, glaring at him. “Let’s see what you’ve got, ancient genius. You’ve been staring at your tiles for five minutes.”

Grayson didn’t say a word. He reached down with his long, elegant fingers, picked up seven wooden tiles from his rack, and began laying them out across the center of the board in a perfectly straight line.

He placed: Q – U – A – Z – E – P – A – M.

Mailah blinked, leaning closer to read the board. “Quazepam?”

“That is not a word!” Chloe shouted, pointing a finger at the board. “You made that up! You’re cheating!”

“It is a central nervous system depressant,” Grayson explained in a calm, deadpan tone, not even looking up. “It was synthesized in the late twentieth century. It uses all seven of my tiles, hits a triple-word score, and earns me ninety-four points.”

Chloe’s mouth fell open. She looked at Mailah in absolute disbelief. “Mailah! Tell him he can’t use complex medical terms from forty years ago! This is supposed to be a casual family game!”

Mailah covered her mouth, trying desperately to suppress her laughter. “Grayson… is that in the standard dictionary?”

Grayson turned his head to look at Mailah. His eyes softened instantly, the cold competitive look vanishing into thin air. “It is a valid medical term, my love. But if it bothers you, I will take the tiles back.”

“No, no, don’t take them back!” Mailah giggled, touching his hand gently. “It’s valid! You’re just… ridiculously smart.”

A small, proud smirk tugged at the corner of Grayson’s handsome lips. He reached over, lightly tucking a strand of hair behind Mailah’s ear, his thumb brushing warm against her cheek. “I merely have a good memory.”